


Dandelion Crime

by crowleyshouseplant



Category: Leverage
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-12-02 17:53:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11514444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crowleyshouseplant/pseuds/crowleyshouseplant
Summary: Hardison is a big supporter of dandelions: A Ray Bradbury inspired work commemorating the times they aren't necessarily thieving.





	1. Chapter 1

It wasn't a quiet morning. Los Angeles refracted sunshine from glazed and mirrored skyscrapers and cars honked their horns. Hot winds blew through the city as it tried to catch its breath in great gusting gasps. Alec woke from where he'd fallen asleep at his desk, palm still cupped around his computer mouse, World of Warcraft's log in skin flashing purple and lightening. He stretched, arms high over his head, neck popping, as he brushed the curtain back from the window of Leverage Consulting and Associates. The lace bits reminded him of his Nana. He had a good feeling about this morning, a real good feeling about this morning.

The sun burned through the window, and he took three steps back into the direct blast of the air conditioning. He closed his eyes, and breathed. His heart didn't beat to the grueling pace of LA beneath him. Bending, he stretched so that his palms pressed against the floor, and he breathed again.

He left his office and paused with his arms folded across his chest. "Huh," he laughed because he'd found most of the others. Parker, legs draped over the back of a chair as she slept. Sophie's cheek was pressed against her arm, from where she had stayed late with Nate. A half drunk cup of coffee lingered close to her fingertips. Nate was awake, sitting on the conference table, as he reviewed the high tech screens Alec had installed, each one featuring a different crime boss, a different mark for one of their well oiled cons.

The parts they'd play were always different, but always the same too. Sometimes he hacked, and sometimes he grifted. Sometimes the con went south, and sometimes it went so smooth it was like enjoying half-melted ice cream, straight from the pint with some guy's silver spoon that Parker had lifted just because she could.

Eliot was in the small kitchen, apron tied around his waist and a bandana keeping the hair from his eyes. Smoke stung Alec's eyes as he moved towards the coffee maker. Eliot was always forgetting to set the coffee on and some people needed their caffeine though Alec wasn't about to say names.

As he ground up the beans, Alec looked over Eliot's way. Each burner had its own pot, and the one that Eliot tended to smelled like scrambled eggs, caramelized onion, and melted cheese. There were flashes of red tomato, spices that Alec knew Eliot ground with a twist of his wrist. Everything home made and home grown, that's how Eliot did it, and Alec was down with that because Eliot always shared what he cooked here.

Just as he got the coffee percolating, he turned and found Eliot right behind him, ready to give him a heart attack if Alec wasn't already used to it.

"Taste this," Eliot said, raising a spoonful of scramble to Alec's mouth.

Alec blew first, and then obliged. "That's good," he said.

Eliot tasted it himself as if he didn't believe Alec's tastes. "Could use a little--" then he wandered off towards the refrigerator, rummaging around in the drawer until he came back with a lil something he sprinkled over the eggs. "Now it's good," he said as he got out plates with an extra rattle that woke Parker. Sophie came out, Nate trailing behind her and muttering to himself. Sophie went straight to the coffee, pouring herself a cup as she enthused about how amazing everything smelled.

Parker perched on a bar stool, accepting the plate of food with a smile that Alec never got tired of seeing.

"You're right," Alec said, as he took another bite. "That is damn good."

Satisfaction gleamed in Eliot's eyes. One of these days, he was gonna ask where Eliot learned to cook like that--but for now, with his mouth full of eggs, the bitter knife of the coffee in his nose, he didn't.

"This is nice," he said, after he swallowed. "Isn't this nice?"

And it was.


	2. Chapter 2

Sophie Devereaux ran her lines with a glass of merlot. They were written by a local playwright for the community theater. The others studiously avoided her, and she almost smiled. She knew what they really thought of her talents when she ventured off her stage. Oh, of course, they attempted to assuage her with praises for her performance, attempts to legitimize it with additional commentary to indicate they had been paying attention to her and the things that were important to her.

It was a con that everyone was in on--including her. They meant well, their pretty words building her up, constructing her confidence so that she smiled and laughed as if she actually believed them. One day, she would be the actress she wanted to be, the actress they actually praised. In a way, she already was--but it was on her other stage, not the one she eyed now, the one that embodied her dreams since she was a little girl. Nobody grew up wanting to be a thief, even if they did harbor a crush for Robin Hood once upon a time.

She flipped her notebook closed and took a long draught of wine until her glass was empty. It hung between two fingers, as languidly and as casually as she leaned back in her chair, eyes closed, until someone took it from her and returned a few minutes later. The glass was full once more, so she smiled after Eliot's broad-shouldered shadow disappearing down the hall.

The play was still in her lap, and she repeated the lines to herself as she held a mouthful of wine, tongue lingering in the taste of it before finally swallowing. It's warmth mellowed through her skin. She turned her head to the right, where Nate was obsessing over something--another mark (that wasn't her), another chance to get back at the company who had wronged him so, or maybe just another glass of hard liquor to drink the pain away.

He snapped his fingers, and she rose to her feet. The others slowly drifted in, and she stood in front of them, her body backlit by the blue-glow of the monitors. She held up the pamphlet for the play. "Don't forget," she said, "I'm performing this Friday and Saturday. I would hate for you to miss it."

They murmured their assent, sharing a glance between them. She sat down beside Nate, their knees almost touching. "Run it, Hardison," he said.


	3. Chapter 3

Parker arrived at the café an hour earlier than she was supposed to. Peggy wasn't there, which was the point of arriving early. Parker wore what she thought Alice would wear--a pastel cardigan, a glimpse of jewelry, and a band to keep her hair out of her face.

It was around the lunch hour, the time where business men did whatever business men did (getting themselves richer off the work of others, Parker thought Alice would think resentfully) and when more normal people came in for a quick coffee and an overpriced sandwich. Green bills peeked from sleek leather wallets, pearls hung low from lady's ear lobes, silver watches sparkled from slim wrists, and Parker's fingers itched. But Alice wasn't a thief.

Parker twitched in her stool. It would be easy to disappear here, just another face in the crowd. She could do that before Peggy arrived, but Alice liked being around people, and maybe Parker did too--to an extent. She liked being around Hardison and Eliot and Sophie--maybe Nate, when he wasn't drunk. She got tired of waiting and ordered a coffee, pocketing some of the pink packets for later.

Peggy arrived five minutes early than their arranged time, and she smiled and laughed when she saw Parker, hugging her tightly for a brief moment which Parker wasn't expecting. She returned it a moment too late, and if it was awkward Peggy pretended not to notice.

"It is so good to see you again, Alice," Peggy gushed. "I've been looking forward to this all week."

"You have?" Parker said. Her coffee was cooling quickly, and she sipped it hesitantly. What if she finished her coffee before Peggy finished hers? Or worse, what if Peggy finished first?

"Oh you have no idea. This week has just been murder."

"Really?" Parker asked before she remembered that Peggy was more than likely exaggerating--no literal murders had taken place which was a very good thing.

Peggy launched into a story about how her cat threw up in her shoes and it was just downhill from there. Parker sipped her coffee when Peggy did, and nodded and said things like, "That sounds just awful," at the appropriate moments.

"But what about you?" Peggy asked. "I feel like I've just been a conversation hog."

Parker's mind blanked. She couldn't tell Peggy about the job they pulled off--a con involving forgery, thieving, and jumping off buildings, which was always Parker's favorite part. The team should do more jobs involving skyscrapers. She wished Sophie were here to prompt her in her ear, but Sophie had refused. "You can do this, Parker," she had said, patting her back reassuringly.

But what if she couldn't do it? Parker grimaced, and a flicker of concern flickered across Peggy's face.

"Knitting," Parker blurted out. "I'm learning to knit. I'm not very good at it."

"That sounds lovely," Peggy said. "What's your pattern?"

"Just a blanket. I thought that sounded best. Something easy. Something simple. If it ends up being crooked, it'll be a rhombus which is still technically a shape so it couldn't be that far wrong."

"Right," Peggy agreed.

They talked more about knitting, and Peggy asked Parker about her favorite type of yarn. "The shiny ones," Parker said, and apparently there were types of shiny yarn because Peggy started gushing about them.

But then Peggy had to go, and to be honest, Parker was already running out of topics of conversation.

Peggy came back to their building, carrying armfuls of plastic bags from the local craft store. "What's all this?" Sophie asked.

"Alice is learning how to knit!" Parker said as she disappeared into her office. It was bare except for the plant she had bought--she had gone for a succulent because the assistant had assured her that she wouldn't need to water it every day.

There had been a lot of shiny yarns at the shop, and she had purchased a good number of them. But the purple with the glittering gold seemed the nicest so she started with that. She opened the pattern on the floor and studied it for a minute. She was a thief with nimble fingers--how hard could it be to knit a blanket?

She chuckled to herself as she started.

 


End file.
